The stranger nodded once and said, “Olivier couldn’t help his child when she lost her mind and hung herself. He blamed himself for her death, but he also knew he had no idea how to help her. As you pointed out, he was a kind man—and kind men don’t understand dark magic. They don’t realize how deeply it is ingrained in one’s soul, or that simply telling them to be different won’t make it so.”
Quinn’s lips parted. “And you do?”
His voice carried as he said, “Olivier knew I was looking for you and that you would be better off with me. That’s why I’m here.”
She stared at him wondering if this seemed as far-fetched to him as it did to her. She wondered if he saw his own manipulations.
“You weren’t looking for me. Just someone like me.”
“Semantics.” He raised his eyebrows when she glowered at him.
“This isn’t going to work the way you think it will,” Quinn replied. There was a tremor of ire in her inflection, a note of warning, but above all else there was a blunt honesty.
“I can get you out of the jail cell, that won’t be a problem.” He spoke crisp, coolly. His eyes may be burning coals, but his voice rang of complete and utter control.
“I wasn’t referring to my imprisonment,” she replied tepidly. “Given it’s hard to employ those that are dead, I assumed getting me out of this blasted cell was the minimum.”
He stepped closer to the cage, just inches away if Quinn were to try to reach through the bars. “Then what?” he asked softly, but firm, his words brushed over her skin leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. Quinn shook her head and slowly got to her feet, wavering as she reached out to steady herself against the bars.
“Suppose that I am a fear twister”—she paused when his eyes flashed—“You saw what happened in the marketplace. You likely heard of what happened when they came to arrest me. I have very little control.”
“I can train you.”
Quinn blinked. That wasn’t the response she’d been expecting, but it had her attention all the more now. “What makes you think that?” she asked.
“You and I are … alike.”
“You’re a fear twister?” She had never met another before.
“No.” That was all he said. Just ‘no.’ They stared at each other for another moment before Quinn let her gaze drop to his clothes again. He was definitely a nobleman. Some merchants often made enough to buy noble cast-offs, but this man was dressed in a fresh pair of breeches and a new tunic. He was wealthy, there was no doubt.
“Why are you here?” Quinn finally asked.
“I told you,” he replied. “I want you to work for me.”
“And if I don’t want to?” She threw it out flippantly, testing his responses while running through her options. She wondered if she could escape before they planned to execute her. Because there was no doubt that after what had happened in the market both times, they would.
The gods’ honest truth of that didn’t sit well with her.
“Then I suppose I’ll see you at the hanging they have planned in a few hours.”
Quinn jerked her gaze back to the man. “A few hours?” she repeated, her pulse picking up. How long have I been out? Weren’t there trials for these things? Or am I too dangerous to put on trial now … that was more than likely accurate.
He really may be her only real option out of this, and while she was curious about what he meant … that wasn’t enough to make her want to work for this man. He intrigued her far too much.
“So, what will it be then? Work for me and live, or stay unemployed and die?”
“I don’t even know your name,” she countered, a trickle of sweat sliding down her back.
“Lazarus Fierté,” he replied.
“No Lord with that name?” She lifted an eyebrow as she leaned forward and grasped the bars.
His expression didn’t change. Lazarus remained silent as he waited. She scoffed, turning her face away.